


The Blossomed Thorn

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-10
Updated: 1999-05-10
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: This story is a sequel toSturm Und Drang.





	The Blossomed Thorn

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

The Blossomed Thorn

#  The Blossomed Thorn
    
    
    A Love Story
    By Michelle Sinclair
    **Rated R(m/f sex).**  
    
    **Please Note: The events in this story follow the events of  
    Sturm Und Drang'.**
    
                                 *****
                          The Blossomed Thorn
                                    
                    That lateness of the season here
                    allows the thorn to blossom now;
                      in opulent but brief career
                    each single bow is bent on show
                                    
                   Once passing with a troubled mind
                    I saw one bush of all in flower
                     that had a presence of a kind
                      my senses had no sequel for
                                    
                      As gazing at it long I stood
                  a strange awareness stirred within,
                     not of my flesh becoming wood
                   and stinging where the buds begin,
                                    
                       but of a flowing universe
               that poured and streamed toward the tree,
                   swept with a magnet's silent force
                            into One Reality
                                    
                  The sluicing earth, the rushing sky
                 seemed thrusting into twig and spray;
                      to hoard my risked identity
                      I had to pluck myself away.
                              John Hewitt
                                    
    A fan turned slowly in the hot apartment.  It was nearing midnight, but
    it was still over 90 degrees Fahrenheit.  Constable Benton 
    Fraser had borrowed the fan from his neighbor, Mr. Mustafi.  The fan
    was not in very good working order, in fact, it did little to cool the
    hot room. Summer in Chicago was as blazing as the winters 
    were frozen.  Of course, winter in Chicago was nothing like the 
    cold of the Territories, but it was cold enough.   However, the heat
    of the summer was barely lukewarm as compared to the inferno 
    that blazed within his heart and soul.  Ben looked thoughtfully at the
    sluggishly turning blades of the small fan.  He would have it repaired
    before he returned it to Mr. Mustafi.  He felt the woman lying next to
    him stir in his arms, readjusting her position, trying to get more comfortable.
    He had borrowed the fan, not for himself, but for her.  Although she
    never once complained about the general 
    warmth and stuffiness of his apartment he had noticed how the 
    beads of sweat would form on her brow as she slept next to him.  She
    had never even asked to go back to her place, which was fully air conditioned
    and much more comfortable.  He noted she seemed 
    to like his place, perhaps for its austerity, perhaps because of him.
    At times he would get a soft, cool, damp cloth and gently, tenderly wipe
    her brow as she slumbered.  
    
    He thought of how he used to lose sleep because of his unrequited desire
    for her.  Now he lost sleep because he couldn't seem to stop looking
    at her.  He would watch her sleep, thinking how angelic she looked then.
    The only thing he hated was the dawn.  The new day would take Meg from
    him.  She would slip out at 5 A.M..  He would see her two short hours
    later at the consulate but she wasn't his Meg then.  At the consulate,
    she was Inspector Thatcher and he was 
    Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. And it was all business.
    Except for the rare occasion when they were alone in her office and she
    would steal a kiss from him.  
    
    "Go to sleep, Ben," he heard her whisper softly.  He knew that
    she knew that he usually didn't sleep much.  She knew he liked to watch
    her.  She didn't mind.  It brought a soft smile to her face. He did love
    her so much, though neither had said those words yet.  It was 
    enough that he held her in his arms and made her feel safe.
    
    "Yes ma'am."  He listened to her and closed his eyes and fell
    asleep with his Meg against his skin and nothing between them, except
    a uniform that hung on a hanger nearby.  
    
                                 *****
                            A Difficult Man
                                    
               He was boring often with his laborous talk
          describing some technical process in tedious detail,
         though admittedly well briefed in his narrow reading;
          annoying too in his stubborn postures, for instance,
     not painting in watercolours because he was thinking in oils.
        Even the meticulous manner in which her folded his scarf
         before putting on his overcoat seemed surely designed
              indefinatly to delay his overdue departure,
           yet we liked him because he was honest and loyal.
                              John Hewitt
                                    
    Saturday afternoon at Wrigley Field.  Cubs versus the Braves.  Ray thought
    there was possibly no better way to spend a day. A day 
    game at Wrigley, struck a cord of nostalgia for Ray.  This was 
    tradition, and Ray enjoyed the simplicity of it.  Sitting in the bleachers
    with a hot dog, a beer and a new Cubs cap was all he 
    really needed in the past.  But now he needed something else.  
    He needed his friend Benny with him to enjoy it fully.  He wanted to
    impress on his Canadian friend the meaning of all this Americana.  Ben
    was late.  It was the third inning and Ray still was waiting.  Fraser
    said he had to "take care of something at the consulate." 
    Ray knew what that meant.  Although Ray didn't like Meg that 
    much (she seemed icy to him), he admitted that she made Ben 
    happy, and that was enough to make Ray happy.  After Victoria . . . well,
    Fraser deserved to have some joy in his life.  
    
    "Hello Ray, I am sorry I am late."  Ben sat next to him.  He
    had on a Cubs cap too, having bought it on his way in as the vendor assured
    him it was required apparel.  
    
    "It's okay Benny, you didn't miss much.  Nice cap."
    
    "Thank you Ray."
    
    "Everything cool at the consulate?"
    
    "No, actually that's the problem.  The air conditioning is not working
    and the Inspector asked me to take care of it before Monday." 
    
    "Do you call her that when you're in bed too?"
    
    "N-No.  Um, I call her . . . well Ray, I don't see why you have
    to know what I call her."
    
    "Jesus Benny relax.  Let's just watch the game okay?"
    
    "Yes.  You know Ray, I read a book--"
    
    "In your grandmother's library?"
    
    "Yes.  It was about American baseball.  An interesting sport really."
    
    "I'm glad you think so.  Hockey's got nothing on it."
    
    "Hm."
    
    "What?"
    
    "The pitcher.  If he would just adjust his pitching motion ever
    so slightly it would be much more efficient.  It would add at least five
    years to his career."
    
    "Benny, do you know who that is?"
    
    "I believe his uniform identifies him as number 31, Maddux."
    
    "Right.  Greg Maddux. Four consecutive Cy Young awards and 
    counting.   He's only the best pitcher in all of baseball."
    
    "Cy Young?  Ah, a best pitcher award.  Well Ray, regardless, if
    he would correct the imperfection he could possibly win 10 in a row."
    
    Ray shook his head.  Sometimes there was no talking to Fraser.  
    
    "Ray?"
    
    "What Benny? Want to explain to me why Mark Grace's footwork inhibits
    his fielding ability?"
    
    "Well Ray, now that you mention it . . . but no, we can discuss
    that later.  I have a quandary."
    
    "What kind of quandary?  Is it some weird case you want me to help
    you solve?  Because Benny, I'm not in the mood to scour Chicago 
    for elves."
    
    "No Ray, nothing like that.  It's Meg."
    
    "Ah.  Meg is it.  Shoot Benny."
    
    "Right.  She . . . was complaining."
    
    "About what?  Sexual technique?  I'm afraid you're on your own there
    Bento."
    
    "No . . . she was complaining that we never go out.   She wants
    to go on a real date.  So I made reservations for tonight at this expensive
    French restaurant."
    
    "Good for you Benny.  Most people date first and fuck later but
    . . . you're not most people."
    
    "My problem is that she wants me to wear a suit.  Not my dress uniform
    but a real suit.  And I don't have one."
    
    "My suits won't fit you Benny."
    
    "I know that Ray.  I was wondering if you could help me pick out
    an appropriate one."
    
    "Sure Benny, we'll go after the game.  I know a place." 
    
    "Thank you kindly Ray."
    
    "No sweat Benny."
    
                                 *****
                                    
                          She's Always A Woman
                                    
                       She can kill with a smile
                      She can wound with her eyes
              She can ruin your faith with her casual lies
             And she only reveals what she wants you to see
                         She hides like a child
                     But she's always a woman to me
                                    
                      Oh-she takes care of herself
                       She can wait if she wants
                        She's ahead of her time
                       Oh-and she never gives out
                         And she never gives in
                       She just changes her mind
                                    
                       She will promise you more 
                        Than the garden of Eden
                Then she'll carelessly cut you and laugh
                         while you're bleeding
                     But she'll bring out the best 
                        And the worst you can be
                        Blame it all on yourself
                    Cause she's always a woman to me
                                    
                         She is frequently kind
                       And she's suddenly cruel 
                       She can do as she pleases 
                          She's nobody's fool
                       But she can't be convicted
                        She's earned her degree
                        And the most she will do
                        Is throw shadows at you
                     But she's always a woman to me
                                    
                              -Billy Joel
                       -Greatest Hits Vol. I  & II
                                    
    Ben arrived at Meg's apartment and knocked on the door.  He was 
    wearing a very expensive Italian suit that Ray had purchased for him.
    It was charcoal grey and double-breasted.  His blue eyes 
    shined brighter still as contrasted by the darkness of the fabric.  He
    had a dozen red roses with him.  He thought she would like 
    them. They seemed to suit her.  So pretty and yet if you weren't careful
    you might prick yourself and start bleeding.  She opened the door.  She
    was lovely and captivating. Her red dress clung to her body and was held
    up by the thinnest straps Ben had ever seen.  
    He worried mildly that a strong wind could tear through the thin fabric.
    A strong wind or his overzealous hands.
    
    "Ben, are those for me?"
    
    "Yes.  For you."  
    
    "They're lovely."
    
    "You're striking."
    
    "Striking? That's a new one."  She smiled warmly.  It made
    him ache for her.  Why did they have to go out anyway?  
    
    "I'm sorry.  I meant beautiful, exquisite, dazzling, stunning, radiant,
    resplendent, sparkling . . . "
    
    "Put away the thesaurus Ben."
    
    "Sorry."
    
    "And STOP apologizing."
    
    "So--we should go.  Our reservations are at eight."
    
    "Let's go then."  She took his hand and they left.  They took
    a cab over to the restaurant. 
    
    Ben spoke to the maitre in French. Meg was impressed with his 
    accent.  After they were seated  and where already sipping 
    champagne she said: "I didn't know you spoke French so well."
    
    "I believe it is in my file."
    
    "No doubt.  Did you spend time in Quebec?"
    
    "I was never posted there, but I did visit it once.  Montreal is
    lovely." 
    
    "It is.  Do you miss Canada ever Ben?"
    
    "Miss it?  No."
    
    "Neither do I."  They stopped talking just then.  A disturbing
    moment of silence which seemed to last for all eternity.  "Ben I--"
    
    "Yes Meg?"
    
    "Never mind."
    
    "Meg?"
    
    "Yes Ben?"
    
    "I had the air conditioning at the consulate fixed today."
    
    "Oh you did?  I thought you were going to a baseball game with Detective
    Vecchio."
    
    "I did.  I had the air conditioning fixed first."
    
    "That's a relief.  It was terribly hot in there."
    
    "I didn't notice really."
    
    "You didn't?  How could you not?  I could hardly work." 
    
    "I'm usually distracted at the consulate."  He smiled at her.
    It made her stomach tighten a little.  His smile was so intoxicating.
    Thank God he didn't smile that often or she would turn to mush right
    in the middle of work.
    
    "Yes.  Distracted.  Maybe it's not that hot.  Maybe it's your effect
    on me."
    
    "Are you hot now?"
    
    "Smoldering."
    
    "Would you like to? . . ."
    
    "More than anything.  But don't you think we should wait for dinner?"
    
    "We'll bring it back to my place," he said.
    
    "Agreed."  The both stood and he got the food to go, payed
    the bill and went back to his place.
    
    They put the food down on the table.  "Eat now or later?" 
    He asked. 
    
    "Later."  He nodded.  They faced one another.
    
    "That dress . . . "
    
    "Yes?"
    
    "I love it."
    
    "I'll let you borrow it sometime."  He smiled.  He reached
    down and caressed her cheek, then her lips, with his knuckles.  She closed
    her eyes.  "Fraser," she sighed.
    
    He reached behind her and slowly unzipped the dress.  It fell off her
    body carelessly.  She had his jacket off and was undoing his tie. 
    
    "It's a nice suit Ben," she breathed.
    
    "Ray helped me pick it out."
    
    "Remind me to thank Ray."  She ripped the shirt off  him, popping
    several buttons.  He laughed lightly at the sound of the buttons hitting
    the floor.  "How much did that shirt cost?"
    
    "One hundred dollars."  They both laughed now.  He picked her
    up and kissed her softly.  He gently placed her on the hard bed.  He
    remembered that it must be horribly uncomfortable for her to make love
    on that bed, let alone sleep on it.  "Get up," he said suddenly.
    
    "Ben, what's wrong?"
    
    "Nothing, Close your eyes for a minute."
    
    "Ben--" she began in protest.
    
    "Do it."  Reluctantly she closed her eyes.  He removed a large
    package from the closet. It was a very soft, thick mattress pad he had
    bought in Sears.  He put it on the bed and then put the sheet over it.
    "You can look."  Her eyes opened.  
    
    "What am I supposed to see?"  He pointed down.  "What
    I--Ben.  Did you buy that for me?"
    
    "Who else?"
    
    "I'm touched . . . I . . . "
    
    "Shhh . . . We were in the middle of something."  He again
    put her on the bed.  "Better?"
    
    "Much."  He smiled.  "Ben, that smile of your's is driving
    me crazy." 
    
    "I'm sorry."
    
    "Don't be sorry.  Do SOMETHING about it."
    
    "Yes ma'am."  They both slipped out of the remainder of their
    clothes and he began laying soft little kisses on her flat stomach. 
    She had her hands in his hair.  He was moving down her body with his
    kisses, moving closer and closer . . . "Ben!"
    
    "What?"  He was surprised by the urgency of her call.
    
    "Don't."
    
    "Why?"
    
    "It's too . . . too soon . . . too intimate.  Please."
    
    "Okay."  He moved up to her mouth and began kissing her there.
    He was confused by her behavior.  Why wouldn't she let him perform on
    her?  Maybe she was just scared.  Maybe no man had ever done that for
    her before.  He would be patient.  She began caressing his organ ever
    so softly. 
    
    "Ben . . . please, now . . . "
    
    He obeyed her command and thrust himself inside of her.  Every time he
    did this he felt as if he was whole.  She was the missing piece of his
    soul.  She was writhing beneath him. He could hear her moans of ecstasy.
    
    Ben, Oh Lord, yes.
    
    Ohhh. Meg.
    
    Ben, more.
    
    God.
    
    Be--nnn.
    
    Love you Meg.
    
    It was euphoria and rapture and bliss. A delirium of passion.  They had
    climaxed moments ago but he was still inside of her.  She liked how that
    felt.  She listened to his slow, heavy breathing. 
    
    "Ben?"
    
    "Hm?"
    
    "Did . . . . did you say you love me?"
    
    "Yes."
    
    "Ben?"
    
    "Yes?"
    
    "I can't say it."
    
    "I know."
    
    "I'm sorry."
    
    "It's okay.  You don't have to say it."
    
    "I want to."
    
    "Someday."
    
    'I hope,' she thought.  
    
    "Can I tell you about someone, Meg?"
    
    "Who, Fraser?"
    
    "Her name is Victoria."
    
    "If you want to."
    
    "I do."  He began telling her about Victoria.  About how she
    hurt him and how her loved her.  About how, until he found Meg, he longed
    for her.  "I thought she was the only woman I could ever love."
    Meg was quiet.  "Meg?"  He looked at her.  He could see the
    tears glistening by the lantern's light.  "I'm sorry.  Meg, I didn't
    want to upset you."  No response.  "Meg?  Please talk to me."
    
    "I can't believe she would hurt you like that."
    
    "She never really loved me."
    
    "Ben, I would never do that to you."
    
    "I know.  You're not a criminal."
    
    "That's not what I meant, Ben."
    
    "I know."
    
    "You really loved her?"
    
    "Yes.  But . . . it's different with us."
    
    "How so?"
    
    "I never could trust her."
    
    "You trust me?"
    
    "With my life, my soul, my heart."
    
    "I still can't say the words, Ben."
    
    "Don't worry about it."
    
    "I can't say the words, but I can show you with actions." 
    
    "Please do then."
    
    "With pleasure."
    
    As they were once again caught in the deluge of carnality and 
    eroticism, a thought, unfettered finally from its prison in the deep
    recesses of his mind came to him.  What he felt for Victoria wasn't an
    "inner ear imbalance."  It was a futile yearning for love,
    because it is sometimes "easier to think that you are in love than
    to admit that you are alone."  But he wasn't alone now.  He needed
    Meg. Not because it was easier than admitting he was alone, but just
    because she made his heart beat a little faster and made his soul move
    away from the darkness and reach toward the light.
                                 *****
                           "She's Got A Way"
                                    
                       She's got a way about her
                        I don't know what it is
                But I know that I can't live without her
                      She's got a way of pleasin'
                        I don't know what it is
                 But there doesn't have to be a reason
                                anywhere
                                    
                    She's got a smile that heals me
                         I don't know why it is
                But I have to laugh when she reveals me
                       She's got a way of talkin'
                         I don't know why it is
                 But it lifts me up when we are walkin'
                                anywhere
                 She comes to me when I'm feelin' down
                      Inspires me without a sound
                I can't explain how I get turned around
                       She's got a way of showin'
                          How I make her feel
               And we found the strength to keep on goin'
                      She's got a light around her
                        And everywhere she goes
                 A million dreams of love surround her
                               everywhere
                    She's got a smile that heals me
                       Oh I don't know why it is
                But I have to laugh when she reveals me
                                 anyway
                              -Billy Joel
                        Greatest Hits Vol. I&II
                                    
                            1996 by M. Sinclair
    


End file.
